


love is a kind of killing

by emollience



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Character Study, F/F, Gen, Post-Season/Series 01, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emollience/pseuds/emollience
Summary: She wanted to say,You left me too.*catra and adora, in the aftermath.





	1. insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the novel "dare me" by megan abbott (HIGHLY recommend btw)

Catra dreamt of kind, calloused hands gripping her own. Dreamt of wheat hair strewn over pillows, soft and silky to touch. Dreamt of nights curled up against a strong figure, her nose buried against the elegant line of a pale neck, breathing in the scent of standard soap and Fright Zone smog. Dreamt of loud, ecstatic laughter pealing through the halls. Dreamt of Adora, always Adora. 

When Catra awoke to heavy darkness, she reached a hand out. Her fingers met the cold side of the mattress. 

Right. She forgot. 

*

Hordak assigned Catra what was once Shadow Weaver’s room. It was larger than the Force Captain barracks by far, and dark, and silent. It was cluttered, surprisingly, with files strewn over the floor and blankets half fallen over the edge of the bed. 

Ironic, really, considering a lifetime of Shadow Weaver reprimanding Catra after her own messy belongings. 

In the end, a room was a room. Entrapta and Scorpia helped her clear out Shadow Weaver’s things. Catra brought in her own. Second-in-command came with the perks of her own sanctioned hall, far from anyone else. Come night time it was silent save for the never ending creaks and groans of the Fright Zone. 

She slept just fine, really. Scorpia fretted over the bags underneath Catra’s eyes, but Catra was doing great. She was better than ever actually! She was just below Hordak on the Fright Zone chain of power. She got to order jerks like Octavia and Lonnie around. She got to skip on over to the prisons and taunt Shadow Weaver all she liked. 

(Shadow Weaver never rose to occasion; kept her back turned and would seem utterly catatonic if it weren’t for the completely unintelligible ramblings muttered underneath her breath. Catra leant in close, once, and made out Adora’s name over and over and over again. She stopped trying after that.) 

So, honestly, she was on top of the world. 

*

“It’s just,” Scorpia said, a pincer rubbing at the back of her neck, “you seem tired. Are you sure you’ve been sleeping?”

Catra scoffed. She swayed and pressed a hand against the wall. “I’m _fine_.” 

*

In her dreams, Adora’s screams echoed. Catra felt the skin of Adora’s back shred beneath her hands and claws. Catra wiped the blood on stones and laughed. In her dreams, Adora’s tear stained face stared up at her and pleaded,  _Catra, Catra please!_

Catra always walked away.

Catra always woke alone in Shadow Weaver’s old bed, hand stretched out for one that would never reach back.


	2. baby teeth

When Adora was six standard years old, she lost her two front teeth during combat practice. The pain didn’t register as quickly as the shock of it did: She stared back at Catra, who looked equal parts smug and concerned as she lowered her fist.

She didn’t cry — Horder soldiers never showed fear, or weakness, not like Kyle with his watery eyes and blubbering sobs — but she turned and spat out two blood soaked teeth onto the training floor.

“Ew,” said Catra. “Are you okay?”

Adora nodded. She smiled, all blood. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

*

The two teeth that replaced them slightly overlapped. The rest of them were standard pearly whites lined in neat straight rows. Shadow Weaver blamed Catra.

*

She-Ra never carried her wounds. She healed quickly, effectively. Every scrape and bruise was gone before Adora really ever felt them, and the deeper ones only lingered long enough for her to fleetingly taste the hissing pain.

Except:

The scratches on her back transferred over from She-Ra to Adora. She didn’t notice until she stumbled into her room, hours post battle, and started to change into her night clothes. Her shirt stuck to her back. Tugging at it only stung.

When she looked in the mirror over her shoulder, blood stains streaked the back of her Horde issued shirt.

*

She slept on her stomach for weeks. She dreamt of gold and blue glowing bright in the dark. She dreamt of a castle made of blue and violet crystals flickering with memories of smog and military green and a laugh she knew better than her very skin. She dreamt of a warm weight at her feet; against her back; a nose buried at her neck. Dreamt of Catra, always Catra.

The stitches at her back pulled when she startled awake. She reached a hand forward. Her fingers met the cold side of the mattress.

Right. She forgot.

*

She had dangled off the cliff, her heart in her throat. At night, in the dark of her room with its running waterfall and open windows, she remembered the grin Catra threw her way, teeth glinting.

She wanted to say,  _You left me too._

She said nothing.

*

Catra punched She-Ra in the face. Her nose crunched loud even against the backdrop of battle. She stumbled back and cradled her face, cursing despite herself.

“Aw,” said Catra. “Is a broken nose too much for you, princess?”

She-Ra looked up. Her hands fell away. She smiled, all blood. “Not even close.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “we're all wanting things we don't understand. things we can't even name. the yearning so deep, like pinions over our hearts.”   
> ― Megan Abbott, Dare Me


End file.
